


Oceanborne

by crestedhearts (orphan_account)



Series: Born In Blood [1]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24051847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/crestedhearts
Summary: In which a girl, favored by the Great Ones, is taken from the school of Mensis by Laurence and cultivated into the spearhead of blood ministration.[ OC x ?? ]
Series: Born In Blood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735141
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Oceanborne

**Author's Note:**

> "In nightmares only it is told  
> What scenes beneath those beautiful beams unfold;  
> What scenes, too old for human sight,  
> Lie sunken there in endless night;  
> For in those depths only pace  
> The shadows of a voiceless race."  
> \-- The Nightmare Lake, H. P. Lovecraft

There is a voice that comes to me in the night. It whispers of lovely, horrible things, of the eldritch beings that crawl in the night, hidden by a thin veil of ignorance; of the beautiful things above, how lovely the stars which shine in the sky; of the dark in which they dwell, coalesced in a womb of endless creation.

It speaks to me when I am alone, when the students of Mensis neglect me for other subjects, and only then will it speak to me. At no other time have I heard its low, soothing whispers, like a breeze upon a chilled, damp wind swept from the ocean. It sings me sweet ballads of an unknown language, ballads that make my head ache with the serene beauty of them, my stomach tremble with excitement. It speaks to me as a mother, I its child, and I am content to be so.

When it is dark and the students of Mensis have moved me from sight of the ocean's sparkling depths, I cannot hear it speak to me. Without it, the others begin speaking, crooning, in much a way that adoring parents would, gifting me with images and dreams that I can only recall with the faint vividness of my skin, red and irate, flushed with new blood.

There are days when the students of Mensis find pleasure within me, though I cannot say why they would find a creature like me worth sating their appetites with; unless they cannot attain it from their feminine, gentle, kind counterparts that treat me with a sweet voice that the one speaking in my mind adores. I feel nothing from their efforts, much as they try to coax me to feel something, and it only frustrates them with every attempt. Once, I would have felt something, and I would have relished in it, that I can recall.

I am sympathetic with their plight; I understand their wish for knowledge, for curing, for the talents of the arcane with which they know nothing of how to use. They whisper of beasts and blood when they believe I am too absorbed within myself to hear, but I hear them even when they speak down halls long and dark, far above the dank cell that they allow me to call home.

There are days when I bleed and they are forced to retreat from me. It is never perfectly timed, but when it comes, there is nothing they can do to me until it is over. They remark upon the blood slipping from my thighs, bright and pale, and take it with them in vials of purest glass. Then they open my arms, angry when what comes from me is not pale, but red, the deepest of vermillions, and hit me. Sometimes it is with the backs of their hands; other times it is with the chain of a cane whip that I cannot avoid. Once, it was with their own blood, blood that burned my skin wherever it touched. Blood that turned to fire, blood that was quickly expelled.

Blood that turned human to beast.

The women, the ones who treated me like glass and offered me citrusy oranges and delicious apples, spoke to me of a discovery within the long forgotten ruins beneath a city called Yharnam--a being of great intellect, eyes as green as emeralds, and wings of terrible length--and how they would bring me to it, to speak with it, and maybe I, one who spoke to gods, could understand.

It was then that I learned that these women were not those of Mensis, but of a place called the Healing Church. They snuck in during the dead of night to seek me out, offering me little gifts of fruits and flowers that I treasured. They offered me asylum so long as I went with them, but I could not be far from the ocean, and I told them as much.

After a great deal of time, most of which I cannot recall, a man called Laurence visited me. He was not a ugly man, that I could tell when I fixed my eyes upon him, but he was not a beautiful man, either. He came with the two women who visited me, who greeted me with a fruit called a peach, and a drink called ale. The peach agreed with me, but the ale set my stomach afoul, so I could not drink it.

This was after the voices and murmurs of the students of Mensis had been silenced, where there was no risk to this man--the founder of the Healing Church--to come and see me with his own eyes.

"What is your name, child?" Laurence asked me. I took no offense that he called me a child, for I may have appeared one to him, not a day past my nineteenth year, and had been stuck for quite a length of time.

"I do not have one," I answered politely. I reached for another peach, rolled it between my palms thoughtfully, considering. "You may call me by any name you wish, if it bothers you to such a degree."

"Alright." Laurence settled into a rickety, dry rotted chair across from me. It creaked at his weight. "Might I ask you a few questions, Aella? It will only take a moment."

I paid no heed to the name he gave me. "Ask."

"What do you know about Micolash?"

"Names escape me." I turned to Laurence, gently putting the peach back into the basket. "Tell me of his appearance."

"Tall. Dark hair. Blue eyes."

"Many of those of Mensis are tall, have dark hair and blue eyes. Tell me of his ambitions."

"To ascend."

"I see." I blinked, vaguely recalling a man who had sought his release within me, begging for eyes that he would not receive. "I know of him. What do you wish to know?"

Laurence cleared his throat, glancing at one of the women clothed in white for aid.

"He wishes to ask if Micolash ever harmed you," one of them explained softly.

"What do you mean by harm?" I questioned. "There were many things he did to me, most of which escape me."

"Did he ever seek his own pleasure within you?" Laurence asked, though blood flared to his cheeks to betray his shame asking such a question. "The Healing Church is pursuing Micolash for crimes against humanity. Any information would help."

"Yes." I turned my gaze to the ocean, where I could just glimpse between the bars the moon. "He did so quite often, begging for eyes that he would not receive."

"What about the students?"

"Them as well."

"I see." Laurence nodded to one of the women and stood. "Would you like to meet Ebrietas?"

Ebrietas, the voice whispered to me with the yearning of a mother. Ebrietas. See her. Speak with her. Witness her.

"Yes."

They clothed me in a thin silk garb, closed with a frilly robe that reminded me of the gowns I would wear when I did not hear the voice. They allowed me cloth slippers and escorted me outside of the cell, up a wooden flight of stairs, and to a coach waiting just outside, led by two horses.

As I left, I watched the hall of Mensis vanish into dark shadow, swallowed up by the nightmare.

When I looked over at Laurence, seated across from me, I realized that I had, indeed, traded one monster for another.

**Author's Note:**

> Because I don't have enough to write for, haha. This just came to me in a dream and I wanted to write about it. ♡


End file.
